The Holmes Family Reunion That Wasn't Tedious
by JustWaitForIt
Summary: John convinces Sherlock to finally attend the Holmes family's traditional reunion WARNING: johnlock fluffy levels are dangerously high!


"No."

"Sherlock-"

"I said no, John."

"Sherlock, it's your family!"

Sherlock pouted deeply into his chair as John sat on the one across from him. "I don't care. I don't care for their company, their attempts of compassion, or the event. It's a tedious tradition and I refuse."

Half way through Sherlock's rant, John had stood up and approached him. He kneeled before him on the floor and held his hand with eyes filled with emotion. Sherlock kept his stubborn expression, but couldn't help but blush a little at the way John sat before him so adorably. "It's your choice, Sherlock," he informed him, "but if you ever consider changing your mind, just remember that this time I can come with you. It doesn't have to be tedious."

The two men smiled at each other and Sherlock pulled John onto his lap. They wrapped their arms are each other and Sherlock rested his head on John's shoulder. "I'll consider it," he promised, with a stern tone. His body and actions, however, disagreed with the tone completely. John stroked Sherlock's thick curls gently with the same grin on his face.

Autumn leaves fell to the ground as the couple walked through a long park that led to the Holmes residence. Dying trees spread out endlessly in every direction. Their branches intertwined to a point in which they almost made up a ceiling of wood above them. Small rays of golden sunlight peaked out in multiple patches and revealed the sandy path that led one through the park. John and Sherlock each had an arm around the other's waist as Sherlock moaned and complained about the upcoming reunion.

"I don't like this," the detective claimed.

"I know," repeated John.

"I don't want to be here."

"Would you like to leave? You already told your mother you were going."

Sherlock exhaled sharply, but proceeded to walk. John could feel his partner gradually slow down as they got closer and closer to the house. At one point, John had to push Sherlock a bit to keep him going.

"Why did I agree to this?"

"It's just a family reunion. You can handle criminals and murders but you can't handle your mother and Mycroft?"

"John, you know as well as I do that Mycroft, you, and I aren't going to be the only guests."

"What? Your cousins? You've never seemed to mind them before."

"Uhhhhggg," Sherlock groaned once more.

The house finally came into view and John felt Sherlock stiffen as he distanced himself from John. They walked side by side and Sherlock took a deep breath, hesitating before ringing the doorbell. As the two waited, John observed the house. It truly was lovely. It was hard to imagine anyone resenting visiting such a location. It was a wooden mansion deep within the private park. It was clearly very old and was very charming. Its coloring matched perfectly with the fall environment. John suspected if and when Sherlock got over himself, they'd have a divine weekend.

A plump woman, shorter than John, answered the door. She was dressed in a long brown dress and wore a cross necklace around her neck. Her crimson locks fell to her waist as she welcomed her son with a shining smile. "Sherlock!" Her round face matched Mycroft's. She pulled Sherlock into her arms and squeezed him with a motherly love as he simply stood there uncomfortably. He crinkled his nose for a second and then finally subtly pushed her away.

"Hello, Mum," he greeted her with a forced smile. Once Mrs. Holmes got over her glee, obviously astonished that he had showed up, despite the fact that he said he'd come, she turned her eyes to John. "This is Dr. John Watson," Sherlock introduced him.

John smiled warmly and held out his hand. Mrs. Holmes shook it and said, "Nice to meet you, Dr. Watson."

John shook his head and assured her, "Just John is fine. It's very nice to meet you Mrs. Holmes."

"Oh, just called me Sam. It's short for Samantha."

John nodded politely. "Alright, Sam."

"Al! Ron!" she suddenly called out to the inside of the house. Two awkward boys who appeared to be about 14 or 15 joined the group at the door. They each shared at least one resemblance to Sherlock. One had his eyes and his cheek bones. The other had his hair and height. "Take these bags to the second floor, will you?" she asked them. The teenagers nodded and took the bags John and Sherlock were previously carrying while Sam gestured her arms, indicating that the two may enter.

The front door opened to a living room with high ceilings and extremely old fashioned furniture. Tables were pressed up against the wall. Each one held at least ten picture frames. At a sofa and numerous chairs facing the sofa, a few men and women laughed and talked casually. Most were John and Sherlock's age, but a few were in their 60's or so like Sam. John recognized many of Sherlock's relatives because they also lived in the city. John had met many of them before and one was even a patient of his. Two little girls and a young boy giggled and ran around on the floor as Sherlock unwilling introduced John to his family. Every member was clearly shocked by Sherlock's arrival. They obviously haven't seen him recently.

John eventually found his way back to the photos. The majority of them were of two young men. Both were tall and lean for their apparent ages, but one had dark curls while the other had a flat head of short red hair. Many of the pictures were of the children holding certificates of one reward or another. Only one frame had an updated picture of Sherlock, while many had pictures of Mycroft. John figured they must have gotten the picture of Sherlock from Mycroft, knowing that his lack of pictures was due to his lack of communication.

One picture particularly caught John's eye. Before his brain had a chance to process it, John's heart skipped a beat and his stomach flipped. Fear overcame him before logic found its way through his mind. An image of a skinny man with deep cheekbones and thick eyebrows, covered with messy curls that were darker than the night, had been printed onto the photograph. The coal-colored locks were lightened by his brilliant, illuminated eyes. As the man in the black-and-white photo stood proudly with his tuxedo, a beautiful young woman stood beside him with tear-filled eyes, a delight-filled smile, and a long white dress. Once John realized that it wasn't Sherlock getting married in the picture, he took a moment to admire it. When Sherlock spotted John's fascination with the photos, he left the group and joined him by the picture tables.

"My parents only had one fight that I can remember," Sherlock started, "but I remember that it was terrible. I had never seen anyone so upset. By the end of it, they both had their fair share of bruises. But you could tell from the bruises, that neither had dared to go for the nose or teeth."

John imaged that he must have looked like a total idiot as his face scrunched up to hold back a fit of giggles. No one should laugh at a fighting couple, but the story reminded him too much of his first encounter with Irene "The Woman" Adler, who could tell just by looking at Sherlock's face that John loved him. Her reasoning was that he hadn't punched his nose or teeth when Sherlock had asked him to punch him in the face.

Sherlock gave John a smirk, letting him know that it was ok to laugh. John took advantage of this opportunity and let out the chuckles he had held in. Once he had stopped, he stated seriously, "You look so much like him."

"Yes, I was reminded several times as a child and still am today," Sherlock replied as he reached for the picture frame and began examining it. John figured he must have been making wild deductions. He was proven wrong only a moment later when Sherlock told him, "I wonder if that's what I'll look like on our day."

Weird vowel noises came out of John's mouth as he envisioned calling Sherlock Holmes his fiancé, his husband. He swallowed at the thought of them eternally committing themselves to each other. He also swallowed at the thought of Sherlock in a tuxedo. Sharing a golden ring with Sherlock was the only thing he could possibly wish for. He hadn't realized that Sherlock would ever think of such a thing. John would gladly marry him on the spot, but he always thought Sherlock wouldn't be into the idea of such a public and ceremonial display of affection that was completely unnecessary. As much as John wanted to marry Sherlock, he was perfectly happy with just loving him if that's all he wanted.

It didn't take long for Mycroft to exit what looked like the kitchen. An old cat followed him into the living room. Sherlock was decent enough to give filthy looks when his relatives weren't looking, but Mycroft was the exception. The detective snarled, disgusted, at the man. Mycroft gave his brother a devious smirk that seemed a bit off, and even for the occasion, Sherlock looked more angry than normal. Concerned, John reached for Sherlock's hand, but Sherlock balled his into fists and pulled them close before John could grasp it.

When Sherlock rejected John's hand, he turned to him without greeting Mycroft. "John, would you like a tour of the house?"

John tried to escape the awkwardness of the moment and responded, "Oh, err, sure."

Sherlock eyed his brother, who continued to smile, and walked into a corridor, expecting John to follow him. He soon caught up with him and asked, "You grew up here?"

"Obviously," Sherlock snapped. He then paused and softened a bit. "I'm sorry."

"It's-… It's ok." John turned and stopped Sherlock in middle of the hall. They were far enough from the living room so that Sherlock's family wouldn't hear them. It was a long, dark hallway that lacked windows but contained the occasional door. It seemed gloomy compared to the rest of the house, but still revealed the same old age. "It's only two days," John reminded Sherlock.

Sherlock shut his eyes for a moment before nodding. He opened his eyes once more and kissed John's forehead and whispered, "Please remember that I love you… so much."

John stepped back, a bit terrified. "Sherlock, what's wrong?" Sherlock wasn't one to reveal such raw emotion. Even when he opened up to John, it wasn't like this, at least not in such a situation where there was no need for such emotion.

Sherlock kept his eyes, so filled with hurt, terror, and guilt, locked on John's. John became horrified of all that was going on and all that he didn't know. He stepped closer to the frightened man and kissed his mouth for a second, only to hug him tightly afterwards. "Sherlock," he muttered in an attempt to comfort him. Sherlock accepted the comfort and held on to John. He really did need it. He wasn't able to stop it for a while. However, once he found the strength to separate, he did so. Sherlock kissed John again and then held his hands while refusing to look into his eyes. The two of them stood there for a few minutes. Sherlock just held onto John's hands for as long as he needed to. It took John by surprise once Sherlock finally let go.

Sherlock then opened the door directly behind them, taking John out of the dark, empty hallway. When John entered the bedroom, the mood suddenly lifted dramatically. He couldn't help but laugh at the posters of scientists and maps that covered the walls. A nightstand was pressed up against the left and right walls. One had books of law and government; the other one had science books and mystery novels. Two twin beds stood parallel to each other and the floor was covered in scrapes.

"You and Mycroft shared a bedroom?" John laughed in disbelief. "But the house is huge!"

Hands behind his back, Sherlock stepped into the room and took in the sight. "My mother found uses for all of the bedrooms. Library, church, guest room. It seemed that she had done everything she could to make sure we shared a room. She called it 'bonding,' Mycroft and I called it unwarranted."

"What are all of the scrapings on the floor?"

That's when Sherlock approached his old bed and began to pull it towards the center of the room. The legs of the bed screeched as they were violently pressed against the floor over the scrapes in the wooden floor. Once the bed reached the center of the room, Sherlock walked right over it and started to push it up against Mycroft's. Together they made a bed almost big enough for two grown men. Sherlock looked at his creation with a proud expression. He smiled at John with that same pride.

"Very-…" John looked for the right words to say. "Good?" he said, hoping that 'very good' was an appropriate comment for the situation. He thought he was confused then, but it was nothing compared to his confusion as Sherlock pounced onto him and began kissing him passionately. John whimpered unwillingly as he felt Sherlock's lips press against his own. Sherlock refused to hold back though. He breathed deeply and aggressively as he took in John Watson. John felt the back of his knees press against the bed as Sherlock dropped on top of him. Sherlock started rapidly kissing John all over his face.

"Sher-" John panted "-lock" breath "What" breath "the" breath "hell?"

Sherlock just chuckled in response as John attempted to catch his breath.

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed with a crack in his voice. He pushed the man away just enough to keep him from kissing him anymore.

"Shhh," Sherlock, still on top of him, hushed as he began to rub John's chest.

"Sherlock, this is your mother's house!" he protested.

"This isn't for me John," he explained. "It's for the brilliant young man who was kicked out of his own bedroom countless times so his brother could defile his bed."

Sherlock went on kissing John, moving to his neck. John not only laughed at the thought of a young Sherlock pouting in the living room while Mycroft shagged with some girl in their bedroom, but also the way Sherlock's soft lips keenly worked their ways on John's neck.

"No, Sherlock, it smells like Mycroft in here," he laughed.

Sherlock removed his lips from his lover and glared at him. "Way to kill the mood," he whined. "Either way, it's too late to turn back now, unless you want to return to my family with that." He turned his attention to John's bulging pants.

John rolled his eyes and groaned, "Fine, but hurry up." Sherlock smiled deviously at John's response as he started to remove the layers of clothing that stood between them.

When the two returned to the living room, the short British day had already ended and moonlight shown through the windows. A fire had started and someone had just made tea. Sherlock still wouldn't hold John's hand, but perhaps it was best that they didn't act all coupley if they were trying to make it seem like they hadn't just 'defiled' Sherlock's old bed.

"You two were gone for a while," Mycroft commented from the sofa as he casually took a sip of his tea.

"It's a big house," Sherlock answered. John would've been beet red is he hadn't noticed that nobody even realized they had left.

Sherlock wasn't a big sleeper. He never had been. He looked at sleeping just as he looked at eating. He did it because his body required it, but it usually just got in the way of work. It was also far too long and far too boring for Sherlock's taste. Every morning, he'd usually just wait in bed for John to wake up. Some mornings John would pretend to stay asleep just to mess with Sherlock. Neither of them minded though. It was a perfect arrangement.

The morning after they arrived was an odd one. Whenever Sherlock usually awoke, he'd stay in bed. No noise was made. No movements disturbed his sleeping partner. This morning, however, John felt the unusual shaking of the bed as Sherlock tried to get up without waking John. As John thought about it some more, he realized that Sherlock had been acting odd the night before as well and obviously that day with his emotional roller coaster and his uneasiness towards his brother. The night before though, he had insisted that they were the last to go to bed. He didn't give a very good explanation of why, but John decided to drop it. Sherlock was acting odd this weekend. That was that.

As John began to stretch in their bed and wake up, he noticed his suitcase in the corner of the room. He could've sworn that Al and Ron had put it in the closet with Sherlock's suitcase yesterday. What could it have been doing out of the closet? John put on Sherlock's robe, which had previously been hung up by the door, and began to check out the case. Even in his groggy state, he could tell it hadn't been opened. Perhaps Sherlock had just taken out John's when he was getting his own to get ready for the day. He must not have put it back. That was just like him too.

John couldn't think straight without his morning caffeine. He opened his case to get the pajamas he wasn't wearing, and put them on so he could get to the kitchen decently. The endless hallways made it difficult to find his way around the house. John was embarrassed to admit that he got lost once or twice on his way. He finally heard voices coming from a general direction. He prayed that it was people in the kitchen. As he got closer and closer, his hopes were confirmed. He heard Sherlock's voice talking to his mother. He sounded much warmer and much more relaxed than he had when they first reunited.

"Oh," Sam said with a sweet tone, "I like seeing you with that doctor man. You've never really been a people-person. It's nice seeing you two together."

"I'm glad you think so. I'm very happy with him," he responded.

John could feel his cheeks burn as he smiled, overhearing the conversation while he walked down the hallway to the kitchen. He loved every single thing he had just heard. He loved the fact that Sherlock was happy with him. He loved the fact that Sherlock's mother was happy with him. He loved that they were comfortable enough to talk about it. He also loved how right Sam was. Sherlock really wasn't a people person. He was the great Sherlock Holmes, who worked alone. Somehow John was lucky enough to have his beautiful heart opened up to him. Just the thought of Sherlock, let alone knowing the love they shared, made him forget how to breathe. He entered once his face had a chance to stop blushing. He was greeted with soft smiles from both of the Holmes's as he walked into the white-tiled room. Sam held out arms to place her hands on the doctor's shoulders. She kissed his cheeks and said, "Good morning, dear."

"Morning, Sam," John yawned with droopy eyes and a goofy smile. Sherlock grinned at the sleepy John. He began to reach for the kettle to fix John a cup of tea, but his reflexes that had helped him so many times before on cases, had him reach his arms out. John's exhausted, blurred vision kept him from the poor, old cat in which he tripped over.

Sherlock was able to catch John just as he began to tip over. All of John's weight leaned in Sherlock's arms and on his chest. Their arms and legs awkwardly intertwined and their chests were pressed up against each other. They took a second to separate themselves from the uncomfortable and weird position. As John started to lift himself up again, holding on to Sherlock for support, he kissed Sherlock's cheek and thanked, "Thanks, love."

Sherlock's face filled with color at the comment. His eyes expressed that same combination of hurt, terror, and guilt that they had the day before. John stood up, unsure of what to expect, but whatever was coming, John was worried about it. He followed the taller man's eyes, which were looking at his mother. Sam's eyes were crimson and watery. She quickly looked back and forth between the two men. "Sher-" she stopped and swallowed, shaking viciously, "Sherlock?"

"Mum…" Sherlock said in a whisper, sounding like he might cry as well.

John froze on the spot, trying to put the puzzle pieces together. He didn't dare do a thing or say a word in fear that he might make things worse.

"That was…" her lip quivered, "awfully friendly."

Sherlock held out his hand for John, who held it tightly. Sherlock shut his eyes, either so he wouldn't cry or because he couldn't look at his mother. Possibly both. Probably both. Anyways, he shook his head and squeezed John's hand so tight it began to go white. This didn't make John let go. He held onto Sherlock even tighter. He wanted to say something. He wanted to say he was sorry, that didn't know. He just figured since Mycroft knew, and since they had come together.

"I thought you knew better… Your father and I… Why would you do such a thing?"

John remained quiet as the words came out of Sam's mouth. Sherlock, on the other hand, reminded John of the time Mrs. Hudson had been attacked. He was filled with anger and rage, but acted like an automaton, simply performing the tasks of a human. His eyes were cold and glassy as he walked out of the kitchen as if nothing had happened, but anyone who sincerely knew Sherlock, knew he was at a point of hurt that he had never felt before. John could read Sherlock like a book. He was, after all, the only person who sincerely knew Sherlock. He noticed all of the little things like the way he walked, the way his jaw tensed, the tone in his voice. John had to run a bit to catch up with Sherlock. He took his hand with both of his as he followed them to their bedroom. John knew deep down that they wouldn't last the entire weekend, but he had thought it'd be because his family got mad at him for rudely deducing or because he got in an intense argument with Mycroft.

Sherlock repudiated anything that didn't involve him and John leaving. Even though it was inconvenient, he packed up the few things that weren't in their cases already with John's hand still intertwined with his own. No words were said. No objections were made. That was until they began to leave. Sherlock put his suitcase on John's wheeled one in his right hand and John's hand in his left. Sam was nowhere to be seen, but several of Sherlock's cousins sat up from where they were and asked what was going on and why they were leaving. Mycroft was already at the door. He stood in front of it, blocking Sherlock and John's escape.

"Move," Sherlock ordered.

Mycroft didn't look satisfied. He didn't look ashamed. He just looked sad. He simply looked sad. Nothing more. Nothing less. He told them, "I was hoping you'd last the weekend. I really was." He opened the door for them, and walked out behind them.

"Go away," Sherlock ordered.

Mycroft nodded respectfully and went down another trail. He didn't turn back to the house. This touched John and he could tell that it touched Sherlock as well, even if Sherlock was still hidden under his robotic expression.

They walked on and on. Sherlock probably had no idea where they were going, and neither did John. John had promised that he'd stay loyal to Sherlock and trust him with his life, even when Sherlock had no idea what he was doing. John never let go of Sherlock as they walked for miles of the park. John was sure they had walked through several circles and passed any progressive destination numerous times. It didn't matter though. It didn't matter where they were or what they were doing as long as they weren't in that house. It had started to get dark when the left wheel of John's suit case snapped off. It wasn't meant to be rolled through a park for miles and miles. Sherlock paused on the spot. It was the first time he had done anything other than walk mindlessly since he told Mycroft to go away. John took the cases while Sherlock stood still and arranged them into a sort of chair. He then faced Sherlock and took his hands to pull him towards the cases/chair. John sat down onto the cases and Sherlock sat on his lap. John wrapped his arms around the sad man's waist as Sherlock wrapped his arm around John's neck. He rested his head on his shoulder and took a deep breath. The darkness continued to grow and John knew they couldn't just sit there forever. A cab wouldn't drive into the middle of a private park so John informed Sherlock, "I'll call Mycroft."

"Ok," he said flatly.

John hung up his mobile after a short phone call. Crickets were chirping and the world around them began to disappear into the state of night. The light of the stars and the moon were hidden by the branches and trees that covered the sky. John thanked God that Mycroft could track their phones. "He'll be here in twenty minutes."

"Ok."

There was silence.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to leave me?"

"You know when I wake up in the middle of the night?"

"The nightmares?"

"They're not about the war."

Sherlock clinged to John, either shaking from the cold or from the tears. John knew how to fix both though. He unbuttoned his sweater and wrapped it around Sherlock. "You're going to freeze," Sherlock claimed as he rejected the sweater.

"We'll share," John said as he stretched the sweater around the two of them, giving Sherlock the majority of it. "I'm never going to leave you."

"I wasn't afraid of coming because I was afraid of my mother's rejection."

"Why didn't you want to come then?"

"Because I still wonder how you could ever love me. I worry that one day you'll realize how hard it is and leave. I thought that when you met my family-… I had to sneak in your sodding suitcase while you were asleep. My cousins had put it in another room."

"Sherlock, you're my whole world. I could never just leave you. I look at you and I look at your past. Everything you've been through and everything you've experienced. I look at the beautiful and wonderful man today and it makes me so proud. Every time I think I can't love you any more than I already do, you prove me wrong. You always prove me wrong."

More silence. Sherlock, who was within John's grasp, was no longer within John's sight. The pure night and unknown universe of pitch blackness blinded them as they awaited the headlights of Mycroft's car.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"Wake me up when Mycroft gets here?"

"Of course, my love."

Even more silence. John counted silently to himself to keep track of time. It wouldn't be long until they were safe and sound back in the flat.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"I love you too."


End file.
